Christmas at Tiffany's (56 page)

He nodded, smiling casually.

‘Shall I, uh . . . run you a bath?’ she asked, jerking her thumb towards the bathroom and beginning to move away. ‘I expect you can’t imagine anything greater than hot running water right now, can you?’

‘Well, if you want the honest answer . . .’ he said with a wink, and her stomach somersaulted at the very thought of his intimation. She remembered Venice again – the bathroom, the balcony, the bed. Why wouldn’t the memory die? Just leave her be? Was she going to go back there every time she saw him? He was
engaged.

A cork popped in the kitchen. ‘But we should probably have a drink,’ he said. ‘Suzy will insist.’

They walked up the hallway together.

‘I’ve cleared your room for you,’ she said.

‘You didn’t need to do that,’ he protested.

‘Honestly, it’s fine. I’ve got the sofa-bed. I’m very happy,’ she assured him.

‘But . . . well, I’m staying with Lacey this week.’

There was a short pause. Of
course
he was. ‘Oh right. Yes, of course. That makes sense,’ Cassie said quickly.

‘Sorry. I hope you haven’t changed the sheets and all that stuff.’

‘Had to be done anyway,’ she smiled as they walked into the sitting room and Archie handed them each a glass.

They all stood in a group and held their drinks aloft, like Morris dancers about to smack batons.

‘It’s good to have you back, Henry old boy,’ Archie said with a broad smile. He paused meaningfully. ‘Nothing lost to frostbite, I hope?’

‘No!’ Henry laughed, shaking his head. ‘Everything’s secure.’

‘Marvellous!’ Archie boomed, much reassured. ‘In which case, I should like to toast our intrepid explorer’s safe return.’

‘
Your safe return!
’ Suzy and Cassie cheered.

They all collapsed on to the sofas. ‘What did you miss most while you were gone?’ Suzy asked, putting her feet up on the coffee table.

‘You mean apart from s—’

‘Don’t say that!’ Suzy hollered.

‘I was going to say your shepherd’s pie,’ Henry quipped. ‘Well, let’s see . . . a cup of tea not made from melted snow was up there. My daily pat with Cupcake,
obviously.
The sight of Archie’s boxers drying above the bath.’ He looked at his brother-in-law. ‘Strangely comforting, Arch . . .’

Archie nodded earnestly. ‘Yeah.’

‘And of course I missed the ever-changing carousel of Cassies. How many others have there been since I’ve been gone?’

Cassie rolled her eyes as they all burst out laughing.

‘So tell us all about it, then,’ Archie instructed. ‘I want to hear about at least one wrestling bout with a polar bear.’

‘And I want you to tell me that you sank all Japanese whaling boats on sight,’ Suzy said.

‘I see,’ Henry said, grinning. ‘Well, seeing as I’m taking orders for my memoirs, what about you, Cass? What do you want to know?’

She shrugged helplessly, her mind a blank. All she really wanted to know was whether Venice haunted his dreams too. But his easy smile wasn’t that of a man on the run.

‘Put a porpoise in there somewhere for me,’ she smiled.

Cassie’s mobile beep-beeped under the pillow and she turned over, frowning in her sleep. Her body clock, highly advanced in matters of sleeping as long as possible, told her it was nowhere close to getting-up time. From behind her welded-shut eyelids, she could detect sunlight. That meant dawn had passed, so it was definitely after five. Still . . . she drifted away again.

Beep-beep. Another message. She sighed. If it was a damned bride having an early-morning freak-out, she’d have one of her own back. Sliding her hand under the pillow, she found the mobile and, with Herculean effort, opened her eyes to read the display.

‘
Get dressed. I’ll be over in ten.
’

Huh?

She opened the next one. ‘
I mean it. Get up.
’

Oh God, she moaned. She knew that tone from Venice. Henry was on the march.

Eight minutes later there was a discreet rap at the front door. She was already there, leaning against it, eyes closed, trying to doze upright but keen not to have him disturb Suzy and Arch. God knows, they needed to hoard all the sleep they could.

‘Shouldn’t you have jet lag or something?’ she muttered, looking at him through bleary eyes. Henry looked back at her, his hands in his pockets and laughter in his eyes. He clearly found her morningitis amusing.

‘You’ve got a bit of toothpaste . . .’ he said, pointing to the corner of her mouth.

‘Oh.’ It hadn’t quite dried yet and she rubbed it away.

‘It’s been bothering me that you didn’t have a London list.’

‘Has it now?’ she dead-panned.

‘Yeah. So I’ve devised an abridged version for you. A one-day London extravaganza.’ He looked her up and down. She had pulled on cut-off jeans, a yellow T-shirt and plimsolls.

‘Okay, you’re suitably dressed. Let’s go.’

They shut the front door gently.

‘Your carriage, m’lady,’ Henry smiled, holding open the passenger door of a tomato-red mini – the old, tiny version.

‘How the devil do
you
fit into
that
?’ she chuckled, sliding into the seat.

Henry came round and opened his door. ‘I’m double-jointed,’ he joked, curling himself in.

‘How old is this?’ she asked, her hands lightly fingering the ridges and piping of the leather upholstery.

‘1966,’ he said proudly. ‘It was Mum’s when she lived in town. It’s still got the original Webasto sunroof and reclining seats.’ He gave her a cheeky look and she blushed slightly.

She noticed, with alarm, that the bakelite steering wheel was held together in one section by masking tape.

‘And that’s original too, is it?’ she asked, nodding at it.

‘Yes,’ Henry said wistfully. ‘It snapped in the last cold spell. I’ve been hunting around for months trying to find an original to replace it.’

He turned the ignition on and they bounced comically along the cobbles and out of the mews. The streets were still deserted, but then Cassie had known they would be. She was up at this time or earlier every Wednesday morning to have her confirmation meetings with Dean.

She sank her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes.

‘You really don’t like mornings, do you?’

‘Nope. And the urge to hurt you right now is overwhelming,’ she muttered. She heard him chuckle beside her, and she liked the sound of it – playful, joyous, full of life. They whizzed along the embankment in companionable silence – her exhausted state of semi-consciousness meant that for once she didn’t care about filling silence with nervous chatter – and she slowly woke properly to the icons of London flashing past the window: the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben, the Eye on the opposite bank, the strange MI5 building, the glorious dome of St Paul’s bulging against the morning sky.

She knew these landmarks, of course, but still as a tourist. This wasn’t the area of London she was currently calling home. For her, that was Battersea Park just over the river, where she’d started running again, Kisses from Heaven for constitutional cups of tea and chats with Julian whilst she sorted through Suzy’s brides’ escalating demands, the Tachbrook Streetmarket for fish and Kentish meats, the Saturday farmers’ market just around the corner in Orange Square where she’d found a fascinating grocer who sold multicoloured carrots and stripy beetroots (what Claude could have done with those on a plate!), and the Italian deli and fromagerie in Upper Tachbrook Street whose owners she had become very friendly with. She had recently banned Suzy from shopping at the new, controversial Sainsbury’s and had made a point of introducing her to all her stallholder friends.

She looked back at Henry. He had shaved and had a haircut since she’d seen him four days ago, and he was back to looking exactly as she remembered him, albeit thinner. ‘Where are we going, anyway?’

He raised his eyebrows a touch and she sighed wearily.

‘Don’t tell me. It’s a surprise. I have to work it out for myself.’

Henry flashed her a devastating grin and she looked away quickly. It was too early for her to deal with.

‘What does Lacey think about all this? You’re scarcely back and you’re already sloping off on adventures.’

‘She doesn’t mind.’

Cassie nodded – Bully for her! she thought – and looked back out of the window. She didn’t want to dwell on his reunion with Lacey or the fact that he’d come from her bed this morning.

He turned in towards the City, darting and wheeling around the curved medieval backstreets so that the only direction she could be sure she was facing was forwards in the car.

Eventually he stopped and parked at a meter, feeding it with change from the deep and many pockets of his cargo shorts. She stood on the pavement, trying not to stare at the shape of his back in his navy T-shirt. The street was so narrow it was almost Venetian in scale, but here the buildings were grey stone, not terracotta and pink plaster, and it wasn’t washing that hung above their heads, but telephone wires with pigeons sitting on them.

‘Come on,’ he said, grabbing a bag off the back seat and bounding over to her, taking her by the hand and leading her round the corner.

St Paul’s jumped out at them like a mugger.

‘Oh my God!’ she exclaimed, stopping dead and taking in the dramatic facade. She was used to identifying the cathedral by the great dome, but down here, by the steps, it was all about the pediment and the colonnades and the solid towers flanking them. ‘How could I not have noticed it before now?’

They walked up to the huge doors set back in the portico, and Henry discreetly rapped.

They waited a moment. Cassie noticed a sign with the opening hours on. ‘Oh. Henry – look, we’re too early. It doesn’t open till eight-thirty.’ She checked her watch and groaned. She’d been trying not to know the time. It would only make her feel worse. ‘It’s only seven-thirty.’

Henry looked over at her just as the door opened. ‘Yes, but they open for matins now. And Richard here –’ A smiling man in a cassock shook her hand – ‘said it would be okay for us to come in. I’ve promised we’ll be quiet.’ Henry looked over at Richard and pumped his hand gratefully. ‘Thanks, mate.’

Richard smiled and nodded once again. ‘If you’re sure you know where to go, then I’ll leave you to it,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘Duty calls.’

‘Sure.’

Richard hurried off.

‘Libraries, cathedrals, Michelin-starred kitchens . . . Is there
anywhere
you don’t have contacts?’ Cassie whispered, looking around. Further down she could see a good few worshippers sitting in the pews and the choir sitting in their white-topped cassocks, lamps lit to illuminate their scores. The dean’s words – deep, rhythmic, slow and pious – drifted in fragments towards them.

Henry shrugged. ‘He’s not a professional contact. Rich and I were choirboys together back in Gloucestershire. I’ve known him since I was four. Hey, we’d better move out of eyeline. Richard’s done this—’

‘As a favour. Yes, I guessed that.’

He led her behind some pillars and towards a door that had a red rope barrier slung across the front of it. Henry stepped behind it and tried the door.

It opened and he smiled. ‘Come on.’

They started climbing and climbing . . . and climbing.

And climbing.

‘Oh, Henry – wait,’ she puffed finally, sitting down on one of the steps, thinking how much Kelly would
love
to run this tower.

‘We can’t,’ he said, looking back at her. ‘There’s a very short window of opportunity for doing this.’

‘What do you mean?’

But he just walked off. Sighing, she got up and followed him, resisting the urge to cry as they bypassed doors that would lead to lower galleries.

Eventually, just as Cassie thought she might have to be winched to the top, the steps ran out and she saw exactly why Henry had brought her here. London lay spread out before them, giving her an overview of its own grey, stubby beauty, so distinct from that of Manhattan, Paris, even Venice.

‘A lot of people use the Eye for panoramas of London, but I still think this is the best,’ he said, leaning his chin on his hands, which were folded over the railings – his token nod to the effort required to climb all 528 steps.

‘It’s stunning,’ Cassie wheezed, looking behind and up and around. Above her stood the famous lantern, ball and cross that was so fundamental to the London skyline. ‘Wow,’ she whispered.

Henry followed her gaze. ‘Yeah. Do you know you could fit ten people inside the ball?’

‘Seriously?’

‘When I was younger I used to think it would be a great bedding lair for James Bond.’

Cassie giggled and smacked his arm. ‘I don’t think that’s what Wren had in mind,’ she chastized.

Henry put the bag down on the floor and unzipped it. He took out a thermos of boiling water, premixed with a little milk. Pouring it into a plastic camping cup, he took a teabag from a secret compartment in the lid of the flask and proceeded to dunk it. ‘Say when.’